The Doctor and the Epic Mary Sue
by The Necroposter
Summary: Amidst oodles of improbable adventures and universe-shattering (not to mention canon-splintering) misfortunes, the Doctor finds himself face to face with the most abominable creature he's ever going to encounter: a raging Mary Sue - one he's been unwittingly travelling with! How will he survive this most dangerous threat? Will time and space ever be the same? Read and find out!


**A/N: All right, folks. Updated intro, hopefully less rambling (rambly...?): I'm trying to a) make a point here, and b) be funny. The point is that Clara is a Sue. I hope I manage to be funny. The thing is, I know 'Mary Sue' is a term that's being flung about to disparage competent female characters everywhere. I hate that - really, I do. Mere 'perfection' isn't a problem. Fantastical wish fulfilment in and of itself isn't a problem, either. What makes a character a Sue is how important they are in-universe and how that is portrayed. For example, Bella Swan doesn't do anything, nor does she have any awesome skills. The narrative, however, treats her as the end-all be-all. The universe bends over backwards to make sure she isn't inconvenienced, to make sure she doesn't have to do anything to get her sparkly happy ending, to make sure she is the speshulest of 'em all. _That's_ the point. When a character usurps the whole bloody franchise, bending everyone OOC, and never suffering any actual consequences...well, then, you've probably got a Sue. This little fic is kind of me rambling in incoherent rage. It's self-indulgent. I know that. **

**The OC featured is a blatant Sue wannabe, albeit self-aware. I know she's obnoxious. That's kind of the point, too. I was just so fed up with this show-stealing black hole Sue making it impossible for me to enjoy DW anymore. This venomous spitefic is to be read in that vein; at least that was my intention. In short: I regret nothing! *thunder booms ***

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Doctor Who and that flipping Clara Sue: A Spitefic Extraordinaire**

„How can you let those people simply die?" Clara cried out, her voice high-pitched, her hands clenched into fists, her whole body trembling with indignation. "There are children out there!"

The Doctor, who was at the console programming new coordinates into the Tardis, briefly looked up, frowning. "Fixed point in history. Can't do a thing about it."

She scoffed and shook her head. "But…there are children! Children, Doctor!" Mindful of her cutesy dress and carefully tousled locks, she positioned herself in a way that would – she was _sure_ of it! – look both charming and righteously infuriated. Of course she did, too: her cause was right and the looks always matched. Had they still been outside, with the appropriately good-looking secondary love interest at hand to genuflect to her every breath, she would have got all the adoring approval that she needed – no, that she _deserved_. She was owed, after all.

Again, the Doctor glanced up, this time giving her the eyebrow. "I heard you the first time. Now, what part of fixed point in history did you not understand? I cannot interfere. We have to leave _now_."

"But I don't agree with this…this directive!" She started taking small, dancing steps toward the Doctor, who was decidedly walking away from her, around the console, busy with…whatever he was doing. Since she couldn't use it in a daring move to fix the situation and save everyone when he wouldn't, thus showing him A Better Way™, she didn't spare it a second's attention. "You're a Time Lord. You can re-write time with the Tardis. There are innocent people whose lives are at stake! It's wrong to leave them to die. I won't have it." Tossing her hair from one shoulder to the other, she stopped in front of him, eyes wide with shock and fear and righteous moral outrage.

"That makes no difference whatsoever, Clara. Look" – He turned to face her, hands raised to stop her from interrupting – "I'm sorry, but there is no decision to make. Those people have been doomed from the start. There is nothing I can do. We have to leave this place and let history run its course."

"Well, I don't accept that!" She jutted her chin out defiantly. "There has got to be a way! There is always a way where we get to save everyone! We can even go back in time and change all tragedies leading up to this one. We-"

"No, we can't." His tone was so sharp, she cringed slightly. "Some things just need to happen."

"No!" How dare he use that tone with her? The sheer insolence!

"Yes. I'm truly sorry, but not every tragedy is evitable. Sometimes, we need to accept that death is a part of life, and that there are hard decisions that need to be made where everyone loses. It doesn't matter if you approve. This is something I cannot change."

Clara felt the sting of just and moral tears in her eyes. Then, as they, pretty and strategically timed, aesthetically tumbled down her alabaster cheeks, her expression turned sympathetic and understanding. "Yes, it is. You can change it. There must be a solution. There always is," she said softly, and reached out to briefly touch his arm. "That's why I'm here, remember? To help you see. To help you do the right thing, like a real person would. I am your moral compass that always points true north, don't you know that by now?"

Deliberately slowly, the Doctor looked down at her hand and then into her widened, deer-in-the-headlights eyes. "I'm sorry."

Her expression hardened, and she crossed her arms. "Well, that's not good enough. I am going to have to save the universe one more time, and you are going to see that I, as usual, am right. This is me putting my foot down and, for once, you'll do as you're told, mister. No more lies. No more evasions. Here and now, we save lives, and that's that. I won't take no for an answer."

He looked down at her as if she were really, really stupid. "You are not right, and I am not changing my opinion, because there's no opinion to change. This is a fact of life. Your unwillingness to accept verbal refusal doesn't factor into this even a little bit."

Obstinate and determined, she shook her head, planting her hands on her waist. "Well, I will not accept that!"

"This isn't a debate!" he said, grimacing and shaking his head. "We are leaving, and that's that. End of story."

"No!"

"What do you mean, no? This is going to happen, and it's going to happen now. We're leaving."

She stared at him wide-eyed, incredulous. "Don't you care about all the lives that'll be lost? All those families you'll be killing?"

"I am not killing anyone. They are killing each other. They could've stopped at any time, but they didn't. It's history. It's unchangeable history. Deal with it."

Exasperated, she threw her hands up. "Then you are killing them by refusing to help!"

"Call it what you like," he said, and meant to walk away, but she stepped in front of him, a look of adorable determination stamped on her youthful face. "You're being really, really stupid, and for nothing. Nothing at all."

"So you don't care about three billion casualties? Three billion individual fates? Three billion tragedies?"

The look he gave her was utterly cold. "One death is a tragedy, Clara. Three billion are a statistic."

Fuelled by righteous fury, she slapped him. Hard. "Don't you dare," she whispered tremulously, her eyes brimming with fresh tears that made her eyes glimmer like radioactive chocolate.

That was when it happened: the Tardis's front door flew open, crashing into the wall. Both the Doctor and Clara jumped. Inside stepped, pale and angry and meaning business, Raytas Yorilan, citizen of the Cardassian Union and former agent of its dreaded intelligence agency, the Obsidian Order.

"Okay, bitch, that _fucking does it_!" She slammed the door shut again and stomped toward Clara, her boots clanking loudly on the metal floor. In one gloved hand, she held a disruptor pistol. Her other hand was balled into a fist.

"Who the hell are you?" Clara demanded, determined to look endearing whilst showing resolve and emotional fortitude despite her trepidations. She did stay half hidden behind the Doctor, though. "One of the people that is supposed to die here, Doctor? Well, now you can tell it to her face!"

"No, she's…not, actually," the Doctor said, scratching his neck and scrutinising the new arrival from head to toe. As usual, Raytas was clothed in her all-black uniform, and he knew that she revelled in this carefully cultivated image because she thought it looked cool and badass. He should know; he'd made fun of her vanity countless times before. Now, however, was not the time for light-hearted bantering. "Why are you…how…oh, never mind. You put that silly thing away this instant," he said, pointing at the gun in her hand. "I don't allow shoot-outs on my Tardis."

"Oh, don't worry, I wasn't planning on shooting the bitch with this baby," Raytas said, and smiled sweetly. "And hello, by the way. Oh, hi, Ray. How are you doing? Fine, Doctor, thank you. I trust you are well, too?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "New regeneration, lots of stuff to do. Don't get on my nerves about it; you're not exactly the postcard-sending type, either."

Raytas thought about this for a few seconds and then shrugged, nonchalant. "Point. Now-" The ground shook and the sound of a particularly close thunderclap boomed through the Tardis. "Oh. It's Volcano Day, is it?"

"You know perfectly well what day it is. Don't play innocent. Nobody'll buy it, and it's a waste of my time."

Clara stepped forward and threw up her hands impatiently. "Care to make some introductions?"

"Wow, you're a rude bitch," Raytas said, shaking her head, "bitch. Although I guess it takes one to know one, eh?"

"Watch the language," the Doctor said, but it sounded unenthusiastic, as if he'd said that a million times over, to no avail.

"Sorry, dear," Raytas said, and smiled again. "By the way, nice regeneration. I really like the suit, and let me just congratulate you on working your way through your midlife crisis. I was honestly afraid you'd end up regenerating as a moody, sparkly seventeen-year-old emo in a leather jacket, and that the Tardis was going to turn into a silver Volvo."

"Not funny," he said, made a face, and pointed at her. "And just so you know, I am never falling for one of your ruses again. That movie was the worst thing ever." He hesitated. "Close, in any case. Maybe the hundredth-worse thing ever. Or the thousandth. Definitely in the top thousand, though."

"Oh, don't pout. You made me sit through the live version of Need for Speed. In frigging space. You had it coming big time."

That did it. Clara uttered a noise of frustration and stomped her pretty, shiny, high-heeled shoe on the floor. "I want to know what's going on here, and I want to know it now! There are people dying out there!"

"Yes, and they'll still be dying five minutes from now, so shut the fuck up," Raytas said, turned to the Doctor again, rethought it, and backhanded Clara right in the face. Hard. Clara lost her footing and went sprawling on her butt, her pretty, slightly ballooning skirt flying. "Oh yeah, and if you hit him ever again, I will fucking skin you alive. Do you understand?" Clara just stared at her in utter disbelief, not knowing at all how to react to such an unprecedented event. This was, actually, her first unprecedented event in…well, ever. "Yeah? Good. Awesome."

"Raytas! Don't do that!" The Doctor said, and meant to rush to Clara's side, but Raytas held him back by grabbing him by the upper arms. "Let go of me right now, before I put you to sleep for the next week."

For the first time since arrival, the expression on Raytas's face was serious as a heart-attack. She slowly shook her head. "I am here to help you, and I'm telling you: don't touch it. Seriously. Just don't. Okay?"

"It?" Clara snapped huffily and meant to stand up.

Raytas half-turned and pointed her disruptor at her, whilst still holding the Doctor back with her free hand. "Stay down." Her voice was so cold and unyielding, Clara actually complied. "Doctor, listen to me. You've been exposed for too long already. It's affecting you. It's been affecting you for a while now. Do not touch it."

The Doctor looked down at her with great suspicion, but stopped trying to push past and toward Clara. "Why?"

"Doctor!"

"Shut _up_!" Raytas snorted. "Man, this thing is annoying."

"I am not a thing! I'm a human-"

"No, you're not, and you don't even believe that, so put a sock in it, or I will pistol-whip that cutesy little nose right into your fucking eye-socket. Don't think I won't. I'd enjoy it, too."

The Doctor was still eyeing Raytas with suspicion and alarm. "Explanation. Now."

"Do you trust me?"

For a moment, he thought about it. There was another rumble deep in the earth, followed by an even louder thunderclap. Outside, there were people screaming. It had begun. There was nothing the Doctor could do about it, but this…this was a conundrum that needed to be solved, and it needed to be solved immediately. "No," he said. "I don't trust you as far as I can throw you-"

Raytas rolled her eyes. "Come on-"

"- but I do trust your scientific knowledge and your intelligence." He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Talk to me. Why can't I touch her?"

"Not her; it," Raytas said lowly, sighed, and rubbed at her left temple. "I have to show you. There's no other way. You have to believe me. You have to trust me, and I am saying this as a scientist."

"As a scientist," he echoed lowly, an unreadable expression on his face. "Yes, you are a scientist. That I believe…and trust." Slowly, hesitantly, he stepped back against the console. "Just don't…look, absolutely no violence whatsoever. This is your only warning."

"Violence?" Clara meant to scramble to her petite and adorable feet, but reconsidered when Raytas pointed the pistol at her whimsically loveable countenance again.

"No cold-blooded soldier stuff," the Doctor went on, casting a quick look at Clara and briefly shaking his head, willing her to stay on her behind and not provoke the woman with shooting iron. "You don't hurt her. I mean it."

"It, not her," Raytas said, raising a finger. "No, I won't, don't worry. I'll just talk to it, I promise. Cross my heart and everything."

The Doctor raised his hands to stop her from talking. "Just don't swear on it. Liars always swear on things."

"You should know," Clara piped up, sounding accusing and hurt.

Raytas didn't turn, but grimaced, as if in pain. "What _is_ it with these things? Where do they get that obnoxious sense of entitlement and self-righteousness? Can you make it shut the hell up?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm one of the insignificant little people you look down on, like I'm just like all the rest of them! You're not the one in charge here!"

After giving the Doctor a what-can-you-do look, Raytas turned around to face the thing. "Of course you're not just like the rest of them, Manic Pixie Dream Girl. You are a special little snowflake, the littlest cancer patient, the highest-mountain climber, the bravest little engine that could, the cutest little go-getter, the sassy minx who takes no bullshit, but hands out boatloads." She paused briefly. "That word 'little' tends to pop up regularly when your lot are involved, I just noticed. Anyway, Abomination, on with the show: you are special and different and quirky, down-to-earth, yet whimsical and full of wide-eyed wonder, humble and yet not afraid to do what's right, damn it!" She emphasised the last six words dramatically, as if making a heartfelt speech. "Also, you can do what nobody else can out of frigging nowhere, and it always works out. Maybe this is because you see the universe in a different light? Because you can see the colours of the wind, Pocahontas?" Clara just stared at her, wide-eyed and prettily pale.

"No," the Doctor said lowly, gripping the console with both hands and shaking his head. "That's not possible."

"How often have you said that in the past few…well, however old you really are? Let's say millennia. So, how often _have_ you said that in the past few millennia, Doctor? Hm? Doesn't always turn out like you planned, right?" Raytas didn't take her eyes off Clara.

"Right…" The earth shook yet again, stronger than ever, nearly knocking the Doctor and Raytas off their feet. "Right." He spun around to the console and started pushing buttons and moving levers. The tell-tale sound of the Tardis moving into the time vortex started to whoosh all about them, drowning out the inevitable apocalypse they were leaving behind. "Let's get somewhere less volatile."

"No, you can't!" Clara cried out indignantly.

"I already did."

"Damn you! You didn't even try to save them!"

This time, Raytas could not refrain from rolling her eyes. "What, are you still waiting for the moment where it turns out you were right all along? That you had the moral high ground and everyone must bow and scrape and not so grudgingly concede the point to you, even if they were never before characterised as people who would be prone to such behaviour? Maybe you think that this is the moment where you get to unceremoniously save the entire universe yet again, or perhaps retroactively change the history of everyone else? Or perhaps that in an instant, the Doctor will bend backwards to do something for you he wouldn't for anyone else, even people he loved, because you threw a goddamn tantrum and were a total whiny bitch about it? Yeah? Something like that? I'm right, aren't I?"

"You're wrong," the Doctor said, slowly stepping next to her. He sounded less than convinced. "I mean, you must be."

"Am I, though? Watch this, then," Raytas said, raised a finger again, and re-focussed her attention on Clara. "Tell me something, Abomination: how many times have you usurped the Doctor's show, stolen his thunder, and saved the day with your wide-eyed, girly, quirkily and imaginatively enchanted ways? Without it being much of a big deal that affects your character or anyone else's? How many times now?"

Clara furrowed her expressive, yet feminine and elegant eyebrows. "I…"

"Exactly. Now, did you ever destroy a perfect story which artfully illustrated the hell of having to choose between a rock and a hard place by throwing a tantrum and stomping your foot? And if you did, was the consequence of this the negation of all character development of everyone else involved, as well as the removal of a good chunk of internal and external conflict that had fuelled most of what had come before? Not to mention a giant cop-out and reset button for a great continuity, which of course pissed everybody off big time? On a slightly different note, when you stomp your foot like a total brat and bitchily demand that the Doctor bend time and space for you – and I quote: 'do as he's told' – even though that is completely out of character for him, does anyone ever call you on your overbearing, childish, selfish and utterly vile behaviour? Or are you still inexplicably treated like a virtuous and good person, a role model even?"

Clara's stomach cramped slightly, and she pressed a hand against her midsection. Something was wrong, but she hadn't eaten anything strange today…what had she eaten again? What did she even _like_ to eat? Why was she asking herself such ludicrous questions, when there was a moral point to make to these cold-blooded heathens? They _were_ going to do what she ordered them to, as she Was Always Right™! "Doctor…"

"Did the Doctor, the several millennia old expert and warrior and scholar, who has saved countless lives all throughout space and time, ever grudgingly admit that a twenty-something bimbo with no qualifications whatsoever did his job just as well as he did? And I quote: 'you make a mighty fine Doctor'?" Raytas stuck one gloved finger in her mouth and made a gagging sound.

"I did not say that!" The Doctor sounded positively indignant.

"Yes, you did, because it's true," Clara said, and grimaced. "My stomach. It hurts. Why does it hurt? What kind of pain am I most afraid of? What was the worst illness I ever had? Am I allergic to mosquito bites? _Why am I asking these questions_?" The last bit came out as a tortured shriek, and she cried out in obvious agony.

The Doctor meant to step forward, but Raytas raised a hand and shook her head, whilst never taking her eyes off Clara. "If what I just described happened, did you accept this mind-bogging and staggeringly out-of-character kowtowing from a man with an ego the size of the Delta Quadrant-"

"Hey!" the Doctor protested, indignant.

"- with elegance, good humour, phony humility, and an adorable little quip to round off the shit soufflé, perhaps? Have you then hounded the man in question for validation and got it, but also the warning that your purity might be compromised by your brave endeavours? Which of course leaves you blameless. In fact, were you ever to blame for any fuck-up? Ever? Or have you always managed to turn it around on whoever was trying to get you to take a little responsibility for your actions, your condescension, and your intolerable bitchiness?"

" _What_?"

The Doctor looked a little confused. He frowned and rubbed at his forehead. "I… _has_ she ever done anything wrong? I don't…that can't be right. Even Rose botched a few things like nobody's business. I…has Clara ever been in the wrong? Ever?" He exhaled sharply. "I don't remember that happening even once."

"Of course not. And that never struck you funny? No? Well, of course it hasn't, but don't worry about it," Raytas said, and waved off. "It's nothing you can change now."

"Don't worry about it? I'm being warped OOC to the point where I'm telling a stupid little ape, a child, that she is as good as I am, that she can not only use my sonic screwdriver and drive my Tardis, but also decide over life and death of billions of people, whilst still blaming me for making her do something difficult for once, and you say don't worry about it? Are you mad?"

" _What_ did you just call me? I am not-"

"Shut up for a second, Clara." The Doctor didn't even look at her. "Ray, are you sure about this?"

Raytas briefly smiled at him over her shoulder. "You'll be sure enough for the both of us in a moment. Just watch." She looked sternly down at Clara, who backed away slightly, sliding backwards on her butt. "Let me ask you a question, o Insufferable One: if you were to name your greatest flaw, what would it be? Quickly, now. Off the top of your head."

"I…" Clara frowned. "Well, that's my big mouth and bad temper, of course. Everybody knows it."

"Oh, wow," the Doctor said, closing his eyes for a moment. "This is so bad."

Raytas raised her eyebrows at Clara and crossed her arms. "Oh, really? And when did that ever have consequences? When has this ever resulted in any kind of character development, conflict…anything long-lasting that didn't end up in people having to either apologise to you or admit that you were right in some fashion? Just give me one example. One." Nothing came, and she made an impatient twirling gesture with the disruptor. "Go on. I'm waiting."

"I…I don't…" Clara blinked, confused, and then pressed her hands against her stomach again, grimacing. "Ouch. What's wrong with me? What gives me comfort when I'm sick? Do I prefer pyjamas to nightgowns? What do I do when I can't sleep? How would I behave in the event of a zombie apocalypse? Do I even enjoy theorising about hypothetical post-apocalyptic scenarios? Have I…oh, God, it _hurts_! Doctor, please…"

"You've got nothing, do you?" Raytas chuckled. "Okay. So…no flaws. You're always right and your abilities just pop up when the plot requires it, you put even the star of the show to shame with your insta! powers, you make all the sacrifices of said star and the companions null and void by both re-writing history and being Just That Awesome; you have insta! romance with the new hot guy once the original hot guy changed his appearance…and, by the way, are random people just totally into your personal life for no reason whatsoever, spending a considerable amount of screen time focussing and talking about it? Even though they have absolutely no reason to give a damn, and if this were anybody else, they totally wouldn't?" She flashed a toothy grin. "I bet they do, don't they? And you don't even notice it, because you are fucking self-absorbed, and yet everyone keeps insisting over and over how super-humanly selfless you are."

" _Stop it_!" Clara hugged her arms around her waist and doubled over, groaning.

"How often do you have the saving idea or the right moral stance that ends up spawning the saving idea? How often are you the deciding factor in the solution of everything? How often is your arrogant, overbearing attitude validated? Every single time, isn't that right? You are the most important little bitch that could in the universe, trumping everyone's deeds and sacrifices forever, being even good enough to fool people you are the goddamn Doctor. Hell, you even know where he keeps his spare keys to the Tardis. You know his fucking name, even though this was supposed to be a huge effing deal. Doesn't that seem strange to you, or do you feel entitled? You do, don't you? Of course you do. It's all you ever do: feel bloody entitled to everything, and treat everyone with rudeness and condescension. Clara Oswald, supreme judge of the universe."

"No…"

"Are you wise beyond your years, self-sacrificing, and have a tragic background to boot? Do you bear these hardships with poise and grace and a radiant smile on your quirkily beautiful girl's face? Except for those times when you're a total bitch about it and try to bully people into doing what you want, and they still don't resent you for it? They may even admit that you did wrong, but they don't expect you to correct your behaviour, or even to apologise, meaning that simply stating that something was wrong is apparently enough to make it A-Okay. Lovely sentiment, if I may say so myself."

"Doctor, _please_!"

Raytas raised her hand again, but the Doctor didn't even try to move. "All right, change of subject. Abomination, focus. I am going to ask you a few very easy, very harmless questions. I promise you, you are not prepared." She looked down at the cringing, shivering, groaning creature without pity. "Ready to go? Good. So, first question: Abomination, what is your compelling need?"

The discomfort was getting worse and worse. It wasn't pain exactly, but a strange feeling that nothing was right – that she wasn't entirely here. Clara squinted up at Raytas through her maidenly tears of valiant endurance. " _What_?"

"Oh, for God's sake, your compelling need; it's not that hard!" The Doctor sounded more than just a little annoyed.

"Compelling need: you know, the one thing, the most important thing that drives your actions, that motivates your deeds, that makes you get up in the morning – the purpose of you, of your life, that one thing that shapes not only what you do, but your personality?" Raytas waited, then sighed with mock exasperation. "Nothing? No? Yeah, didn't think so. Next one: what are your hopes and fears for the future? Where and how do you see yourself in, say, ten years, and not in relation to another person?"

Shaking uncontrollably, Clara squinted up at her, sobbing. This was bad: she'd cried for more than a minute, meaning that her eyes would be all puffy and red. " _Stop it now_!"

"No takers? No? Okay. Don't sweat it. Next question: what is your moral stance?"

"Oh, that I can answer," the Doctor said. "She's very moral."

Raytas raised her eyebrows at him. "Is she, though? Wanting to save lives is what basically everyone wants. When the plot demands it, however, she is a ruthless, selfish little bint who would fuck you over in a heartbeat to get what she wants. And that's not even what I mean with moral stance."

"It's not?" The Doctor was watching Clara writhe in agony on the floor with a look of deep discomfort on his face.

"No. I mean questions like this: how much do her private and public persona deviate? How far would she go to preserve her own life? How much do her personal beliefs influence her actions? How does she choose right from wrong in small, everyday matters, when she knows she won't be caught if she chooses the path of least resistance? I actually know the answer to why there are no answers: the Abomination must always look good by making everyone else around her look bad. Difficult moral dilemmas, especially small, everyday things, don't factor into her so-called characterisation, because that would a) take too much effort, and b) it would detract from her pristine perfection."

The Doctor scoffed and shook his head. "Have I really been this blind? How did I not see this coming?"

"Doctor, sweetie, no offense," Raytas said, turned around to him, and patted his shoulder, "but you were going to kill the one person you established you would never, ever kill, no matter the circumstances, no matter how awful things were or how much people begged you to…because Clara stomped her foot and threw a bloody tantrum…and you didn't find that weird and out of character. How did you expect to even notice the small things?" She snorted. "I mean, really, now? _Seriously_? When I saw that, I flew into a fit of rage worthy of song. You are not the type to betray years of very strict characterisation because a random little piece of shit rudely commands you to. Since when do you take orders from judgmental little brats, anyway? And what was your reasoning for wanting to murder not only your oldest acquaintance, but also the only other person of your race left? You didn't want Clara to soil her purity by doing it herself. This" – She chuckled humourlessly – "this is ridiculous and insulting. The demise of one of the most iconic villains of your canon ended up being all about Clara's conscience. It wasn't about him, it wasn't about you: it was about fucking Clara. And there you have it: again, a difficult decision was taken away from her, so that she wouldn't have to roll the hard six. That, and the fact that the entire universe seems to revolve around her for no good reason. Lovely. Just fucking lovely." Slowly, she clapped her hands together: once, twice, three times.

Clara collapsed to the floor, curled up into a ball, and screamed. "Stop! I'm telling you to stop!"

"Sure you are, honey," Raytas said, winked at the Doctor, slowly ambled over to Clara, and hunkered down. "You see, I know all about you, Abomination – more than you know yourself. Want to know why?"

"You don't know anything about me!" Again, she screamed. Tears were running from her bloodshot and puffy eyes, snot from her nose, spittle from her lips.

"Well, in a sense, that's true, because you know what? There is nothing to know. You have no personality. You are not a character. I know you perfectly because" – She grabbed a fistful of Clara's dark-brown locks and leaned in, as if to confide a secret – "you are all alike, you and all of your kind."

"Let go of me! _Let go_!" Clara tried weakly to slap Raytas's hand away.

It didn't seem to impress Raytas one single bit. She let go and gently patted the creature's slender back. "Interrogation time, dear, and I promise to go easy on you: what's your worst nightmare? Do you believe in an afterlife? What is your opinion on religion, sexuality, morality? What's the worst thing you've ever done? How far would you go in your pursuit to avoid pain? Do you fall in and out of love easily? What is your personal philosophy? Are you a glass-half-full or glass-half-empty person? What's your favourite flower? What are you most afraid of? Do you like to swim in the ocean?"

"Stop!" She was sobbing uncontrollably now. There was a strange smell in the air: sweet, sugary, and a little ripe.

"It's starting," Raytas said to the Doctor, over her shoulder, before gently caressing Clara's hair. "It'll be over soon, I promise. Now, tell me what your favourite colour is. Do you like science fiction? What's your favourite book? What kind of music do you listen to? Is your work very different from your play, meaning do you earn money with what you like to do the most when you've got time to do it? Do you enjoy sleeping in? How do your mannerisms, your vernacular, your everyday actions reflect your personality?" Clara only whimpered. She was shaking badly now. The sweet, artificial, burning smell got stronger. "You're a teacher. Why did you choose this line of work? Don't tell me it's because you want to help people, or any other stock nonsense. Tell me what drove you to make this kind of career choice. What's your favourite kind of literature? How do you feel about movie adaptations? What's your favourite thing to do on a rainy afternoon? Do you prefer the summer or the winter? What do you do when you feel sad?"

"Raytas, don't be cruel," the Doctor said gently. "I think this is quite enough."

"You feel the influence slipping away, don't you?" Raytas sighed and got to her feet, stepped away backwards and stood next to the Doctor. "I'm not being cruel. They deserve it. They are evil."

"Just look at it, though: look at its misery and tell me it deserves this."

Raytas gave him an incredulous look. "Yes, it does. These things are like black holes, Doctor. They suck all life into them and warp the rest to suit their own whims. They take the fun out of a good story, the conflict out of a character, the enigma out of a good moral dilemma. They make everything about them and leave nothing but destruction in their path. They are insufferable, selfish, rude, bitchy entitlement whores who drive even the most hard-core fans away from the show. They-"

"Yeah, I get it, all right?" The Doctor blew out a heavy breath. "I can't help but feel sorry for it, though. Just look at it."

"It's not really in pain," Raytas offered, sounding way too chipper for the Doctor's taste. She was a natural interrogator, that one – always had been. "Think of it more as a reality enema. The truth hurts. It's a bitter pill to swallow for anyone, and since this thing's only purpose is to usurp the story, be perfect, and be loved and wanted and envied by all, a dose of reality will drive it into fits of madness." She cracked a smile. "It'll send this thing back where it came from, too, incidentally."

Clara was huddled on the floor, covering her head with her arms, crying. The sound was high-pitched and hard to listen to. The sweet, sickly smell of overripe yankee candles and spoilt cream got stronger. Glaringly pink fumes started to rise from her body. "What's happening to me? Am I afraid to die? What do I believe? _What do I believe_?"

Raytas nudged the Doctor with her elbow. "I always love this part."

"Way too much, I might add," he said, giving her a disapproving look.

"Fumes are getting thicker. We might want to…you know, not breathe any of that shit in."

"Just…stop having so much fun," he said, kneeled down, and pulled out two gasmasks from a compartment beneath the console. "Here. Put this on." They both pulled the masks over their heads and turned to solemnly watch Clara again, who was only struggling feebly now, and crying softly.

"Maybe we don't want to be here for the last hurrah, Doctor," Raytas said, trying and failing to sound sympathetic.

The Doctor briefly shot her a poisonous glare. "You can go if you want. I won't. I owe her that much."

Raytas scoffed. "Please. You don't owe it shit. It's typical for one of these things to keep insisting that they are owed, but-"

"Oh, for goodness's sake, shut up already. I get it. I get it, all right?" He sighed, leaned back, and crossed his arms. Neither spoke for a good long while. Finally, it got to be too much. "Want to hear something funny?" The tone he said that in was much less hostile.

She shrugged. "Sure."

He smiled wryly, said, "At first, I thought you might be one, too," and briefly motioned at Clara's fading, diminishing form. The clouds of pink vapour were getting thicker now, and she was getting smaller, paler, more transparent. The tears oozing from her eyes and the snot flowing from her nose had turned black. She was hardly moving anymore, and barely crying. "One of them."

That made Raytas laugh. "Yeah, I don't blame you. I can be a bit of an insufferable know-it-all, not to mention a rude cow and an entitlement whore. I'm curious, though: what convinced you otherwise?"

"Little things: your backstory. Your moral stance. Your habits and preferences." He chuckled humourlessly. "Your compelling need."

"That and the fact that you constantly tell me I'm a ruthless bitch who should shut it already."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "If you're gonna be offended, do it someplace else; I'm busy."

"See?" She jabbed a finger at him. "That's precisely what I mean."

They stood like that in silence for a few minutes, watching the creature fading into pink smoke. "Not long, now."

"No," Raytas said, sounding uncharacteristically kind, "not long." A few moments later, the smoke started to clear, and they could see that the only thing left of Clara was a blackish stain on the metal floor. Raytas sighed audibly. "Well, that's that, then. Want me to help you scrub?"

"The floor cleans itself and you bloody well know it," he said, pulling the mask of his head, whilst watching her do the same and then readjust her ponytail. "Have some respect."

She jerked a thumb at the pitiful puddle of black goo. "For one of those things? Never. They all thrive on admiration and jealousy, so no, I'll have no side-order of respect to go with my main dish of disdain, thank you very much."

"All right, fair enough, no need to rub it in," he said, pushed his hands inside his trouser pockets, and shrugged. "So, this is what you do on your own free time, then?"

"Hunting down these foul hell-spawn to keep the universe safe and clean," she said, dramatically placing a hand atop her heart. "At your service, good sir."

He rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the console again. "Well, that's quite enough of that. I'm dropping you off at the station."

She watched him punch in the right coordinates with polite interest. "What are you going to do then?"

"Not taking you on your quaint little hunting trips, so don't even think about suggesting that. I don't just need a break from this. I need a break from you. Half an hour in the same room with you, and I already need a break. That should be enough of a hint, don't you think?"

"You got to admit that I make a pretty awesome hunter, though," she said, grinning, and elbowed him in the side.

"Your compelling needs are not the same as mine."

"Oh, don't be sore. I know you love me."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Is that a fact?"

"It is. You're just a little heartbroken over the thing's very timely demise. It's a symptom of withdrawal that'll go away soon. Trust me."

"Trust you," he said, and scoffed. "Didn't we cover that subject already?"

"We could make all of existence safer by picking off one of these wretched creatures at a time. Think about that for a minute."

Without looking at her, he shook his head. "I don't have to think about it."

"You could get ensnared by one of them again, in the future. You know they're drawn to you like vampires to body glitter."

"That's my risk to take."

She shrugged. "Oh well, it was worth a try." The Tardis stopped wooshing, and she looked up. "Are we there yet?"

He turned to face her, a solemn expression on his face. "Yes."

"O…kay, then." She waited, but he said nothing. After a few seconds of awkwardness, she reached out her hand. "It was good to see you again, Doctor, and I'm always glad to help."

"Well, yeah," he said, and scratched the back of his neck. "I could say that I didn't need it, but I obviously did, so for once, you have a valid point."

"How magnanimous of you," she said, and laughed. "Can I just pretend that you don't actually hate and despise me?"

A small, dry smile curved up the corners of his mouth. "I don't hate or despise you, and even if I did: that wouldn't put a dent in our friendship, as far as I'm concerned. No need to worry."

Again, she laughed, this time more heartily. Her hand was still outstretched. "Shake on it, dear?"

Slowly, he reached out and shook her hand once. "You're home."

Raising her hands in mock defensiveness, she said, "All right, all right, I'm leaving," and ambled leisurely towards the door. She reached out to open it, but then hesitated. "I'm sorry, by the way."

"About what? Her?"

"No. You. I'm sorry. I truly am. I never wanted you to be in pain."

Another small silence ensued. Finally, he said, "I know."

"Good. That's good. Well, take care, then." Without looking back, she opened the door, stepped into her quarters on Deep Space Nine, and gently closed it again.

"You, too," he said, even though she could no longer hear him.

Once again, the Doctor was by himself. The greatest danger he had faced in a long time was vanquished. Even though it made him sad and wistful, he knew that this was a good thing. The universe was, once again, a safer place, as one of the most powerful immortal beings with a time machine at his disposal was no longer being used by what by rights must not ever be allowed to exist.

The Doctor was himself again. The Mary Sue was dead.


End file.
